Above, in photo 68, my daughter, who had been happily eating the meal I documented cooking in the last post, did a sudden sideways dive to get out of the way when the camera came out. She didn’t have issues with Frankie (though she certainly wasn’t attracted to him, being a non-Tarotista throwback to her grandmother), but she often has issues with being photographed. I took it anyway.
I had cleverly convinced her I’d actually cooked a fresh meal by thawing some frozen leftovers, boiling as spud or three, adding huge amounts of cumin (great stuff, that!) and serving up. How easily fooled is she? Frankie loved the smell of my kitchen. He’s a Spice Boy. He should find some other Spice Boys, and record a song or two … He could be Frankenspice. A red-based deck could be Ginger Spice, and a Visconti could be Old Spice.
And below, you’ll see Zoe, the Purr-fect Tarot Cat (photo 69). She hasn’t interfered with Frankie once, and he’s very happy with that. In fact, she’s purrfect because she simply doesn’t do Tarot: doesn’t lie down on spreads before you’ve had a chance to look at them, doesn’t chew cards, dribble on spreadcloths, sing loudly with Nirvana like me, doesn’t drag decks into her water-bowls or amongst the dust-bunnies in inaccessible spots under furniture, or any other destructive Tarot-related behaviours that other people’s cats, apparently, indulge in. No, when I’m doing Tarot, she curls up somewhere nearby and goes to sleep. What a Good Girl.
Yes, you know you’re a Good Girl, don’t you!
And you know, I’ve taken so many photos of either Frankie or what he’s seen and done, that he veritably insisted on taking the camera out of my hands gently, and taking a Frankie-eye-view of me! (photo 70)
Yup, this is how he sees me most of the time: close-up and smiling, and Now With New Improved Fifty-Year-Old Features! He thinks I’m gorgeous <preening>. Now to convince the rest of the world …
When I reclaimed the camera off him, my daughter wanted me to photograph Zoe the Purrfect Tarot-Cat while she was holding the poor, long-suffering puss in a compromising Position (photo 71).
“Mummy, do you think Frankie can see her Girl Bits?”
“Kez, I think everyone can see her girl-bits!” I think she must have some Ragdoll in her ancestry – that cat is so long-suffering, she just doesn’t struggle. The Evil Green Eyes giving us both the Death-Stare originally perfected by her predecessor Patch-Cat gives her away, though.
Frankie’s night ended there. This morning we were bright and early, and went to TAFE as usual, where I finally remembered to photograph him across the road from the Courthouse (photo 72):-
But as he relaxed and realised I wasn’t suspected of Major Crime, he allowed me to cross the road and get a better shot, although his Justice card was conspicuous by its absence (photo 73). Remember how there were no cop cars where there usually were the previous day? Well, they made up for it today with three:- (photo 74)
The white ones are standard NSW livery, but ones like the red one are becoming popular. Not actually unmarked, they are in hot colours so that really, really unobservant rev-heads might try to burn them off at lights and drag-race them at night (lesson #1: never drag-race a hot-looking car with lights on the roof and police markings everywhere!). There are a couple of them out here at the cop station nearer where I live: a bright-orange one, a purple one and a fluoro green one that hurts your retinas.
In addition to the three cop-cars instead of two or one, a media vehicle later turned up to the courthouse, so I figured someone infamous was having their Day In Court.
No pretty policewomen in those delectable cargo-pants were around today so I didn’t flirt, but equally, I got Frankie his ride on a windscreen without awkward explanations (photo 75).
I thought briefly of going for the trifecta, but I didn’t want to push my luck. Frankie was a little disappointed at missing out on sitting on the hot red car, but what the hey, he doesn’t have little arms and legs, so ultimately he only does what I’m happy with!
However, when we walked into the TAFE parking lot, the first car was one of my teachers’ Pauline’s, and Pauline has been having a rough time recently with her health. So I allowed Frankie to sit on her windscreen, too, and bless it silently (photo 76). It may not have half the horsepower of any of the police cars, but it certainly didn’t burn as much non-renewable fuel, either.
Coincidentally, it was Pauline who had us first lesson, for computing. She taught us how to write a business letter – as if I didn’t know. And yes, I know all the conventions with spacing, punctuation and so forth, too.
“This is silly,” Frankie said, showing his Fool. “You know this stuff. What a waste of time – I’m bored!” and out slid the Four Cups as well. (photo 77)
Lunchtime seemed to take forever to arrive, and Frankie was just happy to socialise a little with Cara (left) and Serena (right)
(photo 77) and soak up a little sun. Then he suddenly recognised Bronwen (photo 78). “Hey! The Rainbow Hat Cake Lady!” She was better-lit today, and so was he, so she lent him her sunglasses.
Then Bob the Brush-Turkey emerged hopefully from the brush, to see if we had any scraps to share (photos 79 and 80).
On balance, I’m very happy to feed Bob the Brush-Turkey near the canteen-area, because it keeps him from going anywhere near the horticulture class’s vegetable patch. The Australian native brush-turkey will scratch to pieces any veggie patch they find, in search of seedlings, vegetables, grubs and earthworms, creating untold destruction. And the males (and Bob definitely reeks of testosterone!) are the incubators, and scratch up huge heaps of leaf-litter and forest-floor refuse to warm their eggs with, so I am only too happy to encourage him to stay on upper campus.
I tried to explain this to Frankie, but he’s not very interested in ecology, apparently. So I didn’t tell him that back home in Western Australia on Red Earth Noongar country, you’ll never see a brush turkey, you’ll see mallee fowl instead. Kez used to see them everywhere, just as I was drawn to wombats – your totem animal or animals will always be more visible to you than to others.
Frankie and I don’t have a lot of time left together. I have my TAFE assignment for Communications to do. I find it ironic that my teacher for Communications, while a good communicator, is a terribly shy woman, with a lovely softness about her and the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen, who obviously has problems getting up in front of us and presenting (while she equally obviously does a good job of it!)
And after I’ve done at least some of my communications assignment, I’m going to make Frankie’s present for his bag to look after him on his future travels, and I’ll try and get an exchange-reading done with him for cocogirl55 in the COS circle before I have to bundle him up and send him on his way again.
And as I sign off this post, Lisa Mitchell, in her song about the coin laundry, is singing “Have you got a, have you got a memory for me?” Frankie, as Kylie found out the other night, is all about the combined memories of all of us.